Traffic: John Barleycorn
Traditional English Folk song about Barley and the wonderful thing we make with it.
Traffic version:
And these three men made a solemn vow
John Barleycorn must die
They've ploughed, they've sown, they've harrowed him in
Threw clods upon his head
And these three men made a solemn vow
John Barleycorn was dead
They've let him lie for a very long time, 'til the rains from heaven did fall
And little Sir John sprung up his head and so amazed them all
They've let him stand 'til Midsummer's Day 'til he looked both pale and wan
And little Sir John's grown a long long beard and so become a man
They've hired men with their scythes so sharp to cut him off at the knee
They've rolled him and tied him by the waist serving him most barbarously
They've hired men with their sharp pitchforks who've pricked him to the heart
And the loader he has served him worse than that
For he's bound him to the cart
They've wheeled him around and around a field 'til they came unto a barn
And there they made a solemn oath on poor John Barleycorn
They've hired men with their crabtree sticks to cut him skin from bone
And the miller he has served him worse than that
For he's ground him between two stones
And little Sir John and the nut brown bowl and his brandy in the glass
And little Sir John and the nut brown bowl proved the strongest man at last
The huntsman he can't hunt the fox nor so loudly to blow his horn
And the tinker he can't mend kettle or pots without a little barleycorn
AND a version that gets a bit closer to what we all know so well (particularly the last two verses):
Well there came three men from out of Kent
For to plough for wheat and rye
And they made a vow and a solemn vow
John Barleycorn must die
So they ploughed him deep in the furrow
And they sowed rye over his head
And these three men home rejoicing went
John Barleycorn was dead
But the sun shone warm and the wind blew soft
And it rained in a day or so
And Barleycorn felt the wind and rain
And he soon began to grow
But the rye began to grow as well
And the rye grew quickly tall
But Barleycorn grew short and stout
And he so amazed them all
So they hired men with sickles
To cut him off at the knee
And worse than that John Barleycorn
They served him barbarously
For they hired men with pickles
To toss him on to a load
And when they'd tossed John Barleycorn
They tied him down with chords
And they hired men with threshels
To beat him high and low
They came smick smack on poor Jack's back
'til the flesh began to flow
And they put him in to the kiln boys
Thinking to dry his bones
And when he came out John Barleycorn
Was crushed between two stones
And they put him in to the mashing tubs
Thinking to burn his tail
And when he came out John Barleycorn
They called him home-brewed ale
Put your wine in to glasses
And your cider in to pewter cans
Put Barleycorn in the old brown jug
For he's proved the strongest man